


Not There

by KelpietheThundergod



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Gen, Implied Anxiety, M/M, Post-Episode: s12e23 All Along the Watchtower, emotional breakdown, grieving!dean, hurt!Dean, implied OCD tendencies
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-09-15
Updated: 2017-09-15
Packaged: 2018-12-30 06:58:08
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 323
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12103242
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/KelpietheThundergod/pseuds/KelpietheThundergod
Summary: Things get hazy, again, and Dean can't lift his head. Sober, but not there. Has to watch his hands; his hands that move erratic and frantic over the kitchen counter. Back and forth. Back and forth. If it's not clean, it's not safe, and Dean needs it to be safe. Things turn bad when he doesn't tend to them. People get lost. They leave, because it's not safe.





	Not There

**Author's Note:**

  * For [schmerzerling](https://archiveofourown.org/users/schmerzerling/gifts).



Too many bullet holes. It's a metaphor. Dean _hates_ those. They make things seem pretty and neat, and a cardboard target shot to shreds is not. Disgusted, he shuffles back upstairs, hands clenching nervously. Weeks without sleep, but the show must go on. All the empty spaces are given a voice, and they _scream_. At him. Night, day, drunk or sober. Fuck, Dean doesn't even have to be _home_. It builds up in his throat, and he swallows, swallows. _Go on_.

Things get hazy, again, and Dean can't lift his head. Sober, but not there. Has to watch his hands; his hands that move erratic and frantic over the kitchen counter. Back and forth. Back and forth. If it's not clean, it's not safe, and Dean _needs_ it to be safe. Things turn bad when he doesn't tend to them. People get lost. They leave, because it's not safe.

“Dean?”

His palms burn. Dean can't see right, and he blinks, angrily. He's got to do this. He's got to finish this.

“Busy, Sammy.”

His voice is a croak. He clenches his teeth, swallows, swallows. The shredded target is still a mess. Dean's gotta—he's gotta take care of that, why didn't he?

“Dean, hey. Hey, can you look at me?”

He feels himself shaking his head. Shying away, Dean tries to keep scrubbing but now his hands are trembling and he can't hold the rag. How is he supposed to throw out his bed now? He needs to. It's too big. There's too much space; too many loud, screaming holes in space—

 _Blank_. Dean's off his feet and his head is in his hands, and it's _ugly_. Hurt sounds come out his throat and tears drip off his chin until he's dry and silent. He's given water then, and circles on his back, and words. And he swallows, and he leans, and he nods—but in his head, he counts the bullets holes. 

 

**Author's Note:**

> find me on tumblr at [cuddlemonsterdean](http://cuddlemonsterdean.tumblr.com/)
> 
> if you liked this please consider [reblogging where I originally posted this on tumblr!](http://cuddlemonsterdean.tumblr.com/post/165379523181/not-there-post12x23-coda-for-schmerzerling)


End file.
